Am I Too Old For This?
by Brii Taylor
Summary: Takes place after #7.22 "Exit Strategy". Mac heads south to figure things out.
1. Chapter 1

Mac Taylor walked away from the New York City Crime Lab he managed with a heavy heart. He had so many thoughts going through his mind, he didn't know where to start. He walked home. It was a long walk, but the time and the fresh air allowed him to think. It was strange, he mused to himself, how facing your own mortality gave you a new outlook on life, especially when it was handed to you by a young teenage girl. The fact that he had almost died twice in so short a time scared him, quite frankly. He slowed his pace, finding himself near a bus stop, and sat down on the bench, closing his eyes. He didn't like this feeling of vulnerability. It scared him. He sighed. There was nothing he hated more than being vulnerable. He got up and started walking again, still headed for his apartment.

He needed some time off. As much as he hated to not work, to leave the crime lab for even a little bit, he needed a vacation. He needed to reassess his lot in life, take stock of his surroundings. Was this even what he still wanted to do?

The wind picked up, seeming to push him forward. He quickened his pace, turning up the collar of his jacket. The wind wasn't cold or unbearable; it was simply annoying. He heard a noise, in the wind, that made his blood run cold and he turned around.

A scream. A dying scream on the wind, pushing him to find the source, to help whoever needed it. He heard it again and he turned left and right, trying to locate the source.

Nothing. The wind picked up again and the scream intensified. Mac finally realized where the scream was coming from and gritted his teeth.

The wind. It was only the wind.

_Maybe I've been doing this too long_. The words he'd said to Jo echoed in his head, mocking him. He frowned, picking up his pace.

What would he do if he retired? Ugh, the very word felt wrong. He couldn't retire. He was too young. Besides, the city needed him. He was at the point now that he could fight for his lab if he needed to, fight and win. But he had been doing just that—fighting—for so long that it was beginning to feel like an uphill battle.

He needed a break. Maybe he could spend more time with Reed, or his mother. He hadn't talked to either in a long time. Or maybe he could call Stella. They hadn't talked in months.

Stella. She'd know what to do. She'd tell him that he wasn't getting to old for this, that no one could do this job like him. She always saw his strengths. She'd talk him through it. Absently, he got out his phone and dialed her new number from memory. He'd never actually called it, but the number had stuck with him. He was about to hit the call button when he realized he didn't want to just talk to her. He looked at his watch. It was late; not as late as usual, but late nonetheless. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the light stubble that had accumulated over the day. He erased the number from his phone's view and dialed Jo's number instead. She answered on the third ring.

"Guys, hush, please, I'm on—I'm on the phone, Ellie! We'll talk in a minute. Hello?" she said into the phone. She sounded frazzled.

"Hey, it's Mac. I need you to cover for me for a few days, okay? I've got to go out of town for a few days. Think you could handle the lab for me?"

"Of course, Mac," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "It's a bit short notice, though. Can I ask why?"

"Uh, something just came up," Mac said vaguely. "I don't want to go into it too much."

"Fair enough—Tyler, leave Ellie alone, you know she doesn't like that. Really, what are you, ten? Come on." Sounds of argument on her end. "You know what? That's it. Both of you, out of here, I'm on the phone. Ellie, go do the dishes. Tyler, don't you have homework to do? Yeah, that's what I thought. Get out of here. I'm sorry about that, Mac," she apologized. "They're acting like animals tonight."

"Must be something in the food," Mac said dryly. Jo laughed.

"Very funny, Mac. Where were we again?"

"You were agreeing to run the lab for me for a few days."

"Oh, yeah. It's no problem, I'll handle it. Have fun on your trip."

"Thanks, Jo. Bye."

"Bye, Mac." Mac hung up his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. Then he began walking again, more purposefully this time. He got back to his apartment and hurried to pack a bag. There wasn't much to pack: just some clothes, his toiletries, and his laptop. He called the airline and asked for the next available flight to where he wanted to go. Lucky for him, the next flight was leaving JFK at one a.m. That left him enough time to finish packing and get through security. He arrived at his gate with minutes to spare, having stopped halfway down the terminal to wolf down some fast food.

His seat ended up being the very last seat on the plane. He was sandwiched between an aggressively blonde, bad-tempered businessman and a woman in her late twenties, who looked him over, clearly interested, before letting him get to his seat. Mac did his best not to sigh impatiently when she began flipping her hair and smiling at him, trying to get him to talk. She introduced herself as "Amanda, but you can call me Mandy" and told him about how she was headed home to visit her parents and her "soon-to-be-ex-douchebag-boyfriend Marc-with-a-'C'". Mac nodded and pretended to be interested, instead wishing that she would stop talking. After about fifteen minutes of incessant drabble, she turned in her seat and, batting her heavily mascara-ed eyelashes, said "But enough about me. What's _your_ name?"

"Uh, Mac," he said, looking around to the blonde businessman for an escape. But the man was fiddling with his Blackberry, frowning, and didn't notice.

"Mac, huh?" the woman asked. "I like that name. What do you do, Mac?"

"I'm a crime scene investigator," he said uncomfortably. She squealed.

"Oooh, that's interesting," she purred, moving her leg so that they were closer together. "So you, like, solve crimes and stuff?"

"That's usually what a crime scene investigator does, yes," Mac said dryly. She laughed a little bit too hard, leaning closer to him.

"Ha ha, that's funny!" she squealed. "You're funny. So do you have, like, a gun and stuff?"

"Not on me," Mac said. _Unfortunately_, he added silently.

"Have you ever shot someone?" she asked, inching her fingers across the armrest towards his thigh. He used every bit of self-control in order to refrain from shrinking back in horror, instead only pulling back slightly. She didn't notice.

"Yes," Mac said heavily, hoping she would get the hint. She didn't.

"W-o-o-o-w," she said, opening her eyes wide. "That sounds scary. Was it scary?"

"No," Mac said shortly, his patience wearing thin. "You just do what you have to do."

She finally realized she had hit a nerve, but instead of shutting up, she misinterpreted it and tried to comfort him. She pouted.

"Aww," she said, her lip jutting out as she reached out and patted somewhere halfway up his thigh. "I'm sorry. What was it like?"

"It's like clicking a pen," Mac said impatiently, his anger lashing out at her. "except instead of getting a pen, a bullet comes out at 800 feet per second, piercing flesh thirty feet away and lodging itself in the heart. The force of the bullet and the bullet itself disrupts the electrical impulses, and they die. "

"What's wrong?" Amanda-But-You-Can-Call-Me-Mandy asked. "I'm just asking a question." She pouted again.

"I want to be left alone," Mac snapped, reaching for the in-flight catalogue. He flipped it open to a random page and started reading an article about floating bars as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Amanda finally took the hint and resorted to a kind of pouty silence for the rest of the flight. Mac was relieved, but even though the flight was over three hours long and he hadn't slept in at least twenty-four, his slight trepidation at what Amanda-but-you-can-call-me-Mandy might do to him if he slept kept his eyes wide open. He was relieved when he heard the captain announce their landing.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! So I'm temporarily blocked with "I Miss You, Too," and I was in the mood for some ridiculously, disgustingly, I-had-no-idea-I-had-this-amount-of-cheesy-little-'r'-romanticism-in-me fluffy stuff, so here it comes! Well, not this chapter, not really. A little, I mean, but not so much it's overwhelming. More fluffy stuff next chapter. (quick question: would you all hate me if I made this into a more mature 'T' than a 'K'?)  
>Read and review, it really makes my day. I love it! (Also, to you NOLA natives out there, how'd I do with the accent? I tried my best, even watched some youtube videos about it.)<p>

P.S. Shugga's back and blacker than ever!

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><p>"Hello, this is your captain speaking. We are now approaching the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport. It's currently two-fifteen a.m. and balmy 52 degrees. Hope you have your jackets! We're right on time, and we'll be landing in about three minutes. Please stay in your seats until we've turned off the seat belt sign. Thank you for flying North American Airlines, and I hope you enjoy your time in New Orleans." The captain clicked off, and Mac sighed in relief. Amanda had given up on him and was now bothering the man across the aisle. Mac shot him a sympathetic look as the plane touched the ground. He waited patiently while they circled down and landed, rolling his neck and stretching. Finally, they opened the door of the plane and one by one, the passengers deplaned.<p>

The air was damp and cold, and a salty breeze played with his hair as he stepped out of the airport nearly a half an hour later. There was a cab sitting on the curb in front of him. He looked in the front seat. The cabbie looked up and grinned, rolling down the passenger side window.

"Hello, suh, can I take yeh somewheyuh?" he drawled, looking him over. Mac nodded.

"Where's a good place to stay for a day or so?" he asked curtly. The cabbie nodded.

"De best place aroun' heah is uh Lah Keen-tuh Eeyin. Its pretteh nahce, naht tuh esspensive. Haow does dat sound, suh?" the cabbie asked him.

"Sounds fine," Mac said with a tight smile. The cabbie smiled back.

"Can Ah help yuh with your bags?" The cabbie asked. Mac cleared his throat.

"Uh, no, no thanks, I've just got the one bag," Mac said. "just, uh, pop the trunk."

"Sho' thang." The cabbie hit a button, and the trunk opened. Mac lifted the small suitcase into it and shut the lid. Then he got into the back of the cab and the driver pulled away from the curb.

"Well, thayun, suh, dat's where we's a-gonna go. Ah'm Shuggah, bah da way," he offered.

"Uh, Mac," Mac returned.

"Weccome tuh da citaeh, Mac," Shuggah said to him. He looked around, taking in the city that Stella now served. It was nothing like his city. Where New York was tall and crammed, gray and dark, New Orleans was colorful and more open, similar to Chicago, but with fewer skyscrapers. The architecture varied from modern to late-forties to turn-of-the-century Victorian-era beauty. Mac couldn't help but admire the city. However, he was approaching thirty hours without sleep, and he knew he would have a better chance to see it during daylight hours. So he listened sleepily to Shuggah rattle off facts on the city for the five minute drive. Soon enough, the taxi was pulling up to a small, clean-looking hotel. Mac paid and tipped the cabbie, got his suitcase out of the trunk, and made his way into the hotel. After a short conversation with the receptionist, he had secured a room for the night. He received a key, went up to his room, and, yawning, changed into a pair of boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt and collapsed into the bed, too tired to think about the state of the sheets.

XXXXX

After a night's sleep, a shower, and some breakfast, Mac was ready to do what he came for. He got out his phone and dialed Stella's number again, this time hitting the green "call" button. She picked up on the fourth ring.

"Bonasera," she said briskly, sounding busy. Mac's voice caught up in his throat at the sound of her voice, and he couldn't speak for a moment.

"Hello?" she asked when he didn't respond.

"Stella," he finally managed. He heard her gasp.

"Mac?" she asked uncertainly. "Mac? Is—is that you?"

"Yeah," he said softly. He cleared his throat. "Hi."

"Hi," she said tenderly. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," Mac said, closing his eyes. How long had he been dreaming of this moment? He didn't know. "Busy."

"Yeah, I bet," Stella said with a small chuckle. "How many days has it been since you slept in your own bed?"

Mac thought for a moment, and Stella chuckled again. "Yeah, that's what I thought," she said, and Mac could hear her smiling.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "you know me. So, uh, what you, what are you doing?" Was he stuttering? Mac Taylor didn't stutter. He needed to get a grip.

"Oh, you know, the usual. I just got off work," Stella said casually. Mac looked at his watch.

"It's nine a.m.," he said skeptically. "What are you doing just getting off work now?"

"It's only eight here," Stella said defensively. Then she paused. She must have looked at her watch, because she said, "No, it's nine. Wow. I must be more tired than I thought."

It was Mac's turn to chuckle. "Now who's the one staying up all night?"

"I had to," Stella retorted. "I was working on a—"

"—case?" Mac finished for her. "Yeah, I know the drill. How's it going?"

"Closed it, actually," Stella said. She sounded proud of herself. "I'm gonna take a day for myself. I've been working for a week straight. Haven't gotten more than an hour or two of sleep in the past few days, but it was worth it. We got him."

"Good for you, Stella," Mac said, truly glad. "So you gonna stay at your apartment for the day, then?"

"Yeah, maybe," Stella said. "I might do some shopping or something, but first, I'm going to get a few hours of sleep."

"Shopping?" Mac chuckled. "Get your rest, Stella. You need it if you're gonna be running a crime lab."

"Funny, _you_ never seemed to need any," Stella said dryly. Mac laughed.

"Good point. Well, I'll let you get some sleep," Mac said. "I want to talk to you about something later. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Okay," Stella said with a yawn. "I'll talk to you then." Her voice had risen in pitch, but it was softer.

"All right," Mac said. "Good bye."

"Bye, Mac," Stella said tenderly. "It was really nice to hear your voice again. I missed it."

Mac smiled a grim smile. "Yeah. I—I missed yours, too."

"Mm-hmm," Stella sighed softly. "Bye."

"Bye," Mac breathed. He clicked off and ran his hand over his face. When had Stella had such an effect on him? There he was, sitting in a New Orleans hotel room, sighing over her like some lovesick schoolboy. What was _wrong_ with him? He sighed and looked at his watch. He had a few hours to kill until Stella would be awake. He decided to spend them finding Stella. He'd gotten her address when she moved, but he had no idea where she was in relation to him. He logged on to the hotel's free Wifi and input her address into a search engine. Within minutes, he had a map. It was several miles from where he was—he'd have to take another cab. Oh, well. He sent the directions to his phone and then laid back on the hotel bed, letting his mind wander while he waited for Stella to wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello from me!

So this is the new chapter, I hope you like it :D I'd like to thank **Ballettmaus** for giving me some New Orleans information: Thank you :D you'll be seeing it in the next chapter!

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><p>A few hours later, Mac had made his way to Stella's apartment. It hadn't taken too long. Stella's apartment building looked nice—clean, open, with a nice view of the French Quarter. The cabbie on the ride to Stella's apartment had hailed from that particular neighborhood, and spent the whole ride telling him all about it, and the city. Mac hadn't really listened. His nerves were getting the better of him. After getting out, he paced in front of the building for a solid five minutes, wondering if he should go in, or wait. He spotted a coffee vendor on the corner and walked over to it. Finally, something familiar. He paid for his coffee and took a sip. It wasn't bad. He looked at his watch. It was two in the afternoon. He decided to call Stella again. The phone rang three times, and then Stella picked up.<p>

"Bonasera," she yawned.

"Hey, Stella, It's me again. It's Mac," Mac said nervously. He watched as someone walked into the building. Her building. He rushed forward without thinking. The man walking in held the door for him, but gave him a weird look. Mac ignored him, looking at the mailboxes.

"Hey, Mac," she said, yawning again.

"Did I wake you up?" Mac asked apologetically.

"No, not really," Stella said. "But just barely. What's up?"

"Oh, you know…" Mac trailed off, walking away from the mailboxes and towards a door that said 'Stairs'. "I've been… I've just been thinking." He opened the door and found stairs. He began the ascent, jogging easily.

"Thinking about what?" Stella asked cautiously. Mac paused on the second floor landing. He leaned against the wall and sighed. How could he even explain this to her?

"I—I nearly—I don't know. It's complicated," Mac said with a sigh.

"Well, why don't you start at the beginning?" Stella suggested gently. He closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and continued climbing the stairs, more slowly this time. While he climbed, he told her about the raid and the Hexton case, and finally about Olivia Dalton.

"We finally found her, Stella," Mac said. "Olivia. She had been taken by Hexton's accomplice, Wes. Hexton was going to kill her, and he saved her life." He sighed again. He was on the fifth-floor landing now. He sat down on the stairs. "He saved her life, and we killed him."

"How?" Stella asked quietly. Mac closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall. He sighed, pursing his lips at the memory.

"He went for his keys," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "They were in—in a little holder. I shouted for them to hold their fire, but they—they just shot him. And it's not even like I can blame them," he added bitterly. He sighed again and stood up, stretching. He needed to get to her floor. "They were just following orders. It looked like he might have been going for a gun. But Olivia was there. She saw the whole thing. She saw us kill him, watched him die."

"Then what happened, Mac?" Stella asked. She didn't sound tired at all now; on the contrary, she sounded alert, even wary. Mac didn't answer. He was taking the steps two at a time, trying to keep the emotions welling up in him under control.

"Mac?" she asked. He reached the eighth floor and stopped. This was her floor. He paused in the landing, his breaths hitched in his throat.

"She went to his bag," Mac said weakly. He could see everything now, rising like ghosts in a graveyard before his eyes, the scene coming to life in this little stairwell. He saw her go to his bag, and then—

"She pulled out a gun," Mac said breathlessly. "She had it aimed at me, right at me. Twelve. She was only twelve, and she knew how to handle a gun. She was going to shoot me. I could see it. I talked to her, just like we're supposed to. I talked to her about her mother, who never forgot about her, her mother, who loved her. She told me that her father loved her, too.

"She was going to shoot me, Stel. A twelve-year-old girl, and right—right after that raid." He ran a hand over his face and walked out into the hallway. It was a nice hallway. Clean. She was close now. So close.

"Did she?" Stella asked. Mac thought he could hear genuine fear in her voice. He sighed.

"No. I managed to talk her down," he said heavily. "But—but I don't know now, Stella. I don't know if I'm getting too old for this, or if I'm—just not cut out for this anymore. Maybe—maybe it's time to move on."

Stella was quiet. "Do you mean that?" she asked quietly. "Do you really mean that?"

Mac groaned, walking down her hallway. She was behind one of these doors. One of these doors was hiding her from him.

"That's just it, Stella. I don't know. Jo said I was trying to finish the case for—for closure. Maybe she's right. Maybe all I'm looking for is closure." He found her door. It stood in front of him, solid, dependable, opaque. He wanted to see what was on the other side of that door, what life had in store for him on the other side of this… door.

"It's possible," Stella agreed. She sighed, too. "You could be looking for that closure. You nearly lost your life. Maybe you should move on. What would you do?" she asked him. "Just out of curiosity."

"I don't know," Mac admitted. "I don't know. But what I do know is… well, Stella… I miss you." With that, he steeled his nerves and rang the doorbell. He heard it echo over the line. She was silent for a while. She understood, of course. She understood those underlying connotations, the emphasis he put on the words. She knew everything he was trying to say, and more. She understood, but she said nothing.

"Well?" Mac said after several beats of silence. Stella cleared her throat.

"Well, what?" she asked. Mac twitched a nonsmile at the door.

"Your doorbell rang," he said quietly.

"It can wait," Stella said, just as quietly. "It's probably nothing, and it's not as important as you are." He heard a wavering in her voice. He didn't know what that meant, and he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was the fact that he was more important than the doorbell. Emotions welled up in him again, emotion that he hadn't felt in years. But he cleared his throat.

"I think you should get it, Stel," he said.

"I told you, it can wait," she said impatiently. "Mac, you're more important to me than anything in this city. It's probably my next door neighbor with more of her gumbo. It's delicious, but it can wait."

"Gumbo?" Mac asked. She chuckled.

"It's a New Orleans thing. You should come down here to visit, maybe you could try some."

"I'd love to," Mac said tenderly. "In the meantime, go get the door. It's rude to keep people waiting, especially people with food."

Stella chuckled. "Fine, I'll go get the damn door. Happy?"

"Yeah," Mac said quietly. He heard footsteps approaching the door, then leading away.

"I'm coming, Mrs. Tyford!" she called. "Just give me a minute."

"Mrs. Tyford is the neighbor with the gumbo?" Mac asked innocently.

"Yeah." Stella said. he heard footsteps approaching again, this time coming right up to the door. A lock slid out of place, and a chain rattled. Finally the doorknob turned.

"Hey, Mrs. Tyford, what's…" her voice trailed off as she flung the door wide open. Standing there in checkered sweatpants, a thin spaghetti-strap tank top, and a light sweater, which hung open, she looked more beautiful than anything Mac had seen on earth. Her hair was messed up from sleeping, and Mac noticed bags under her eyes, like she hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"Hi."


	4. Chapter 4

Well, here it is :D I hope you like it. Let me know what you think, please. I worked hard on it

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><p>Mac looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in years, and they were deeper than she remembered. Darker, too. His clothes were casual—a thin windbreaker pullover over a white t-shirt of some sort, and a pair of jeans—but they were slightly wrinkled, and dirty, too, like he had been sitting on the ground. His eyes were different as well; they held a new, haunted look, a look she hadn't seen since he watched the second tower fall. He tried to smile at her, a weak smile that couldn't touch his eyes, and Stella noticed new wrinkles had formed around his eyes and mouth. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, as if he had showered and then forgotten to comb it. The pathetic attempt at a smile fell.<p>

"You're not Mrs. Tyford," was all Stella could think to say. The corner of his mouth twitched in a nonsmile.

"No," he said quietly. His voice was hoarse. "No, I'm not."

"Come in," she said after a moment. "Come on in, and we'll talk."

Mac nodded wordlessly and stepped into her apartment. He looked around.

"Nice place," he offered weakly. Stella shook her head.

"Stop," she ordered. She closed her eyes, her hand going to her forehead. "Just—stop."

"What?" Mac asked. Stella opened her eyes again, looking him up and down critically.

"You look like crap," she said finally. "You've lost weight, you haven't shaved in about a day, and you're standing here—here, in my—" words seemed to fail her temporarily. She looked at him again, and Mac could see something burning in her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly. Mac looked at her, the look in his eyes similar in nature to a lost dog.

"I—I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I guess I'm just…. Hoping that maybe…" he trailed off, lost in whatever rabbit hole his mind had taken him to. Stella stepped forward and tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. Mac's hand went up automatically to grab it, and Stella braced herself for rejection, but instead, he brought it to his cheek, leaning into it and closing his eyes. She stepped closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He sort of sagged, his shoulders slumping, leaning into her as if he needed her support. Stella shut the door with her foot and led him over to the couch. He sank into it, looking ashen, and covered his face with his hands.

"Mac..?" Stella let his name trail off, hoping to get some reaction from him, but he shook his head. His mind was racing at hundreds of miles an hour, trying to process the onslaught of emotions, senses, reactions, and thoughts he found himself suddenly with. He felt Stella sit down next to him. She began rubbing his back gently, even when his automatic reaction was to stiffen. He couldn't believe the level of vulnerability he felt, sitting here. A part of him screamed that he was doing the wrong thing, that he needed to leave in order to protect himself, and he needed to leave now, but the rest of him was just… defeated. He was tired of fighting, tired of running away, tired of protecting himself. He was just tired of living as a one-man army. He depended on others only when he needed to, kept his cards close to the proverbial vest, as close as they could get. But lately, he had begun to feel suffocated by the cards, like they were squeezing in, closer and closer, and he might soon succumb to the pressure.

"I'm just… I'm done with it," Mac sighed. "I don't know what to do anymore. I have no purpose, no one to talk to, I—I've been consumed by the job so much I don't know if there's anything left of me, if –if the job's taken too much and I'll disappear if I stop." Now that he'd voiced the words, his vulnerability doubled. How long had these fears been eating at him? Mac didn't know, but guessed it had been longer than his feelings for Stella had. He finally dared to look up at her, expecting disgust at his utter weakness, but seeing tenderness instead. There was something in the look in her eyes that compelled him to continue.

"Am I still even here? Is there anything left of me? Or is there just the criminalist, and the cop? I don't know if I'm anything else now. I've given so much to the job, and willingly. I haven't had a day off in years, I'm not even sure what the last book I read that wasn't for work was, I've stopped going to the club on Wednesdays… My bass is sitting in my apartment, gathering dust. I think. I haven't been in my apartment long enough to check in awhile. Who the hell am I, Stella? What have I become? What have I done?" The reality of what he was saying hit him, a bullet of truth that he was having difficulty swallowing. His heart began to pound, and he looked at Stella in horror.

"I'm vanishing, Stella." He swallowed hard, trying to regain control. Stella firmly put her hand on his shoulder.

"Mac, I can see you just fine," she said resolutely.

"You know that's not what I mean," Mac said heatedly.

"No, Mac. Listen to me," she said, standing up and moving in front of him. Both of her hands were on his shoulders now. "I… can see you… just fine." She smiled bitterly. "For the first time in almost a year, I can see you. I'm seeing you." She stepped forward and sat down on his lap, straddling him while he sat. "You've had a rough year. Lindsay, she told me about it. She's worried about you. She told me about your ex-partner, about you getting kidnapped, about the shooting at the lab… she told me. I know you've been working a lot. That's what you always do. You've been working yourself to the ground." She ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. "Welcome to the ground. It's hard here, and you need to stop pushing. You just need a few days off. And you knew that. You came down here."

"Not for a vacation," Mac argued. His heart thumped a solid stacatto in his throat, automatic gunfire from just below his Adam's apple. He swallowed. "I didn't come down here for a vacation."

"Then why are we having this conversation sitting in my living room?" Stella asked. His hands meandered casually to her waist. Every inch of him was screaming that this was forbidden territory, that he was making a giant mistake, but in his vulnerability, in his weakness, his own self-hatred—for Mac realized that that's what it was, now, self hatred, for becoming a shadow that lived only to work, work and do nothing else until the day the job killed him—his own self-hatred had turned against him and become a flame of tenacity, rebellion against everything he had so carefully built to guard himself, and the flame had become a roaring fire, ravaging all of his boundaries and corners and neat little compartmentalized boxes that he had been separating his life into. The walls that he had put up went down in fiery conflagration, burning until they were reduced to a pile of white ash. Only then did the fire retreat until it became a glow in his eyes, a hardness that no one but Stella could have noticed.

"Because," Mac said. He looked her in the eye. Stella saw the fire burning behind the eyes, the fury that had finally burned through. "I needed to see you. The phone wouldn't have done this justice." He leaned forward, moving his hands from her waist to her cheeks. He lowered her mouth to his and kissed her. The flame of tenacity jumped inside of him, greedily consuming all of his doubts as Stella wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his passion, matching fire with fire until they had burned every boundary, until every last line in the sand had been crossed and every single wall had come crashing down, and they were left with only each other, and one hell of a lot of scorched earth. Fury and self-hatred and passion combined into a roaring inferno, a terrifying rush of emotions that scared them both, but neither could stop. They were caught in a beautiful, chaotic dance of flame and fervor, of infatuation and desire, of love and rebellion and friendship and hardship until at last, they lay gasping upon each other, caught together in the aftermath of their unyielding blaze.

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><p>You know, It's kind of frustrating reading that last paragraph. I worked for like a half an hour on it, it felt like it should be pages and pages long... oh well :D Review and tell me what you think!<p>

Brii.

P.S. Should I end it here or should I keep going? The next chapter would involve them exploring the city, maybe. I'm open to suggestions :)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So for everyone who thought they had just kissed... um, surprise! I was trying to be subtle about it last chapter, and apparently I did too good of a job. Anyway, I'm sorry about that confusion, but when I said every boundary, I _meant_ every boundary :)

In other news, this Chapter also has nothing to do with them going around and seeing New Orleans. I had to do some research, and in the meantime, I just sort of wrote it up to timeline. Next chapter, I *Promise* Special Thanks to **Ballettmaus **again, who helped me with the New Orleans stuff, Of which you'll see next chapter. So have fun! Hope you like it! review and such!

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><p>His arms were wrapped around her bare chest, fingers gently playing patterns over the sensitive skin of her back, feeling her heart beat against his. Her curly hair had fallen loose of its elastic, and now it splayed across his chest, tickling his neck and his chin. They had been unbelievable, barely able to make it from her living room. It was either very early or very late now, and Stella lay sleeping on top of him, her arms wrapped around his neck. They were in her bed, miraculously, sheets the only thing covering them. He sighed; the benefits of the highs he had experienced the night—or day, for time had quite escaped them; he didn't know what time it was, whether late evening or early morning—before had carried over. She must have felt his breath on her neck, because Stella's shoulders hunched and she batted at her hair, muttering incoherently. Slowly, her eyes opened. She blinked.<p>

"Oh," she said, voluptuous lips forming a small circle. "You're here."

"Where else would I be?" Mac asked, chuckling. She smiled sleepily.

"Usually you're not here when I wake up," she said slyly. Mac looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"You dream about me?" he asked. Her eyes flew open, and a blush crept up her cheeks.

"No-o-o," she said slowly, looking anywhere but him. He smiled and rolled over so that they were laying side-by side facing each other.

"It's okay," he said, leaning over and kissing her. "I don't mind," he whispered. She giggled and pulled him closer to her, kissing him again. His arms moved automatically to circle her tighter, and she rolled back so that she was on top of him, straddling him with her smooth legs. Mac chuckled and moved his hands lower, down her back. She moaned suggestively, and he rolled over on top of her with a grin.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this," Stella whispered. Mac moved his lips to hers, effectively shushing her.

XXXXX

"Yeah, I do," Mac whispered into her ear a while later. They were cuddling together, hands intertwined.

"You do what?" she asked.

"I do know how long you've dreamed of this. I have, too," he admitted.

She turned her head to look at him.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" she asked. He shrugged and held her closer, loving the feel of her warm skin against his.

"That would have been unprofessional," he said.

"But Danny and Lindsay got together," she pointed out.

"True," Mac agreed. "But Danny's not me, and you're not Lindsay. They were able to keep their work and personal lives, for the most part, separate."

"For the most part," Stella agreed.

"I already had had a fling with Peyton, and look how that ended up," Mac continued, seemingly musing aloud now. "She ran away, back to London, and we weren't even in the crime lab together."

Stella sighed. "If Peyton ran away, it was because something's wrong with her—something very wrong, I'd say," she said. "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do." She craned her neck to look at him. "Suddenly, I'm in the mood to go do something else. Come on." She slipped back the sheets and stepped out of them, moving nimbly around the piles of clothes that littered the room as she made her way to the dresser. Mac lay in the bed, watching her get dressed. She dressed casually, in a white sundress with a large, brightly-colored floral pattern. She'd pulled a jean jacket from her closet before she finally turned around and looked at him.

"Well? Do you like what you see?" she asked dryly. "Come on, get dressed."

"I do," Mac admitted, "But I don't have any clothes. They're all at the hotel."

She shot him a look. "Well, I'd let you borrow something, but I don't think I have anything _quite_ your style," she said sarcastically. He smiled. She bent down, picked up his undershirt from the floor, and tossed it at him. "Come on. We'll pick up your stuff from the hotel later. For now, just put your clothes back on." She grabbed a pair of shoes from her closet, and Mac sighed.

"What'd you have in mind for today?" he asked, getting out of her bed. He bent down to retrieve the closest item—and froze. He felt his cheeks flush slightly as he picked it up, letting it dangle from his index finger.

"_This_ is what you were wearing last night?" he asked, studying the lacy black thong. She turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw it, but she shrugged.

"Yeah," she said. "What, you didn't notice it?"

Mac blinked. "If I remember correctly, my mind was somewhere else," he said. "Kind of like now. You always wear stuff like that, or were you expecting someone?"

"Oh. No, no. No. Nothing like that." It was Stella's turn to blush. "I didn't have anything else clean. I was going to do laundry yesterday, but then you showed up, and that plan kind of fell apart."

"Oh, okay then," Mac said. He pulled the undershirt on over his head and then stood up, stretching. Slowly, he gathered his clothes and put them on, one by one. Stella, meanwhile, finished getting ready and then went into her kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. As she was pouring the coffee and finishing the eggs she'd scrambled, Mac ambled in, looking around. His hair was still uncombed, and the slight stubble that had been on his cheeks yesterday had grown, giving him, with his windbreaker and jeans, the look of a lost and confused hiker.

"Mac," she sighed.

"What?" he asked defensively, sitting down at the counter that acted as her table.

"Your hair," she said pointedly, walking over to a cabinet and producing two plates. "It's a mess. Cheese?" she asked, indicating the eggs.

"Uh, no," Mac said. She sprinkled cheddar cheese across half the eggs and put a lid on the pan. Mac ran his fingers through his hair, apparently trying to fix it, unsuccessfully. Stella cracked a smile as she pulled out bread from a breadbox.

"No, no, just stop, that's making it worse," she chided him. "Toast?"

Mac nodded his head, trying to see his reflection in her microwave. He raked his fingers forward this time, trying to get it to lay flat. Stella put the bread in and turned back at him. She giggled.

"Okay, just—stop. Stop touching it," she instructed. She brought over two steaming coffee mugs and set them down in front of him.

"Here," she said softly, coming around the counter. He turned ninety degrees in his chair to face her.

"Don't move," she instructed him. Mac nodded, and she carefully began running her fingers through his short hair, smoothing it down and playing with it until it finally lay flat.

"There," she said softly. She kissed the top of his head and then went to get the eggs. She set the plates down just as the toast popped. She got the toast and laid it beside the eggs on the plates, and then sat down next to Mac and began eating.

"So, what are your plans for today?" Mac asked Stella around a bite of egg.

"Well, I have to call my lab, tell them I'm taking a few days off, and then I thought I'd take you on a tour of New Orleans," Stella said.

"That sounds fun," Mac said. "Where would we go?"

"Well," Stella said thoughtfully, "We could take one of those tour buses, go around the city exploring that way, which would be fine." She set down her fork and looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Or, we could forget the buses, and I could show you New Orleans, the way I like to see it."

Mac looked over at her, mesmerized. "A tour bus sounds fun," he said. Stella's face fell almost comically, and she opened her mouth, but Mac held a finger to her lips and continued. "However, tours are made for people who want to see the city at a glance. I want to see New Orleans with you, Stella. Let's take our time. Think you could give me a private tour?"

Stella's smile became more pronounced. She took his hand from her mouth and kissed it.

"I'd love to," she said.

"When do we start?" Mac asked.

"As soon as you're done. We'll see the French Quarter, Jackson Square, St. Louis's, the Riverwalk, and oh, you just _have_ to go to Café Du Monde's, We might start there…. Audubon Park… Oh, Mac, hurry up so we can get started!" she cried. "We have a long day ahead of us, and we still have to get your stuff from the hotel. "You're gonna love it." She began planning a loose list of things she had to show him, and her excitement increased. Mac laughed at her, but she ignored him and began eating as if she was in a race. When she finished, she downed the rest of her coffee in a gulp and then got up, washing dishes at top speed. Mac watched over a piece of toast, his eggs gone. She washed up the pan and turned to him.

"You done?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she took his plate from him and washed that too. Mac finished his toast and his coffee and then stood up, taking his coffee cup over to the sink. When he had, he caught a look at the clock. He chuckled and stood behind Stella, rubbing her back gently.

"Stop that," she muttered, although she did stop washing dishes.

"Why?" Mac asked.

"It feels great, but we need to get going," she said, leaning her head back against his shoulders. He chuckled again and moved his hands to her waist, sliding them over her stomach to gently circle her in a hug.

"We've got time, Stella," he said quietly.

"No we don't," Stella said automatically.

"Stell, do you know what time it is?"

"Of course, it's—it's—no," she admitted.

"It's not even 6:45."

"Oh," Stella said. She felt her cheeks heat slightly.

"Yeah," Mac said gently. "So why don't you let me finish the dishes, and you can start planning a guide for us. Okay?"

"Okay," Stella said quietly. She turned her head and kissed him. "I'm just so excited that you're here, and you're coming to see my city, that I got ahead of myself," she murmured against his lips.

"It's okay," Mac said. Then he shooed her out of the kitchen area, bidding her to go plan their day.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** After far too long a wait, here it is! I won't keep you with bad excuses, I'll just let you read. Enjoy!

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><p>"Let's go to your hotel first," Stella suggested twenty minutes later. They had finished doing the dishes, and Mac had convinced her to sit down for awhile. She leaned up against him and laid her head on his shoulder. "We'll get you to your hotel so you can get your stuff and check out early." She took his hand.<p>

"Is that so?" Mac asked with a smile. She nodded earnestly. Mac laughed and kissed her on the cheek as he hit the elevator button.

"Well, it sounds like a good idea to me," he said. The elevators dinged open and they stepped inside it. Stella hit the ground floor button.

"So I was thinking we could take my car to the hotel, and then drive back and start in the French Quarter, work our way around from there," Stella said as the elevator went down to the first floor. They held hands as they walked through the lobby towards the back lot.

"What kind of car is it?" Mac asked her. She smiled mysteriously.

"It's a surprise," she said. "I got it when I got down here, because it reminded me of the city. And you," she added shyly. Mac looked down at her amusedly.

"Of me?" he asked. She nodded. "Come on," she said. "I want to beat what they laughingly call rush hour here."

"Not so bad, huh?"

"Their rush hour is New York's middle of the morning, but with less swearing cabbies," she said, rolling her eyes. Mac laughed.

"But you still want to beat it?" he asked, chuckling, as they exited the apartment complex.

"It's still an inconvenience," Stella said. She led him over to a black Chevy Avalanche, just like the trucks they had in New York.

"An Avalanche?" he asked her. "Did you really like them that much?"

Stella shrugged. "They're nice. They have a lot of room, it was a good deal, and like I said, it reminds me of you and New York."

Mac smiled. "Well, as long as you like it…" he said, kissing her on the cheek. She smiled.

"I do," she said. "I just hope you like today." She let go of his hand and went to the driver's side.

"I'm driving," she said unnecessarily.

"Well, yeah, it's your car, isn't it?" Mac pointed out.

"Sorry, force of habit," Stella apologized. "My partner's a really bad driver, but he won't admit it, so I have to beat him to the driver's seat if I don't want to die."

Mac chuckled. "Well, since you know the laws, not to mention the city, I'll gladly let you drive." He kissed her cheek and went around the front of the truck to get in the passenger's side.

He buckled his seatbelt and looked up to see Stella staring at him critically.

"Yes?" he asked her. She pursed her lips.

"You never shaved," she said. Mac rubbed his hand against his cheek thoughtfully.

"I haven't," he said. "Not in a few days. I've been busy."

"Yeah, I know," she said as she started the car, rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I know."

"Don't worry, I'll shave at the hotel," Mac assured her. she shocked him by shaking her head.

"No, don't!" she said. "I mean, it looks good on you. You should keep it," she added, her cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink.

Mac looked at her. "Okay," he said slowly, a look on his face that suggested he was just agreeing to please her. She shifted the truck into reverse, and it jolted backwards suddenly.

"Sorry, sorry," Stella muttered apologetically. "I need to get that checked out, it keeps doing that."

"Don't worry about it," Mac said. "The whiplash isn't _that_ bad." He gripped the back of his neck teasingly, and she rolled her eyes while the truck shifted smoothly into drive and rolled forward perfectly. Mac kept looking at her while she navigated her way through the New Orleans streets. He noticed the way her eyes narrowed slightly when someone tried to cut her off, the way she sat back, relaxed, humming softly to herself. They made it to the hotel in good time—the traffic was beyond light by New York's standards—and soon enough, they were pulling into the parking lot. Stella surprised him by pulling into a parking space and going in with him.

"You could have stayed in the car," Mac offered. "It only would have taken a moment."

"I don't mind," she said. They walked in, Mac's hand snaking its way around her waist to pull her closer to him. They walked casually towards the elevators and waited once they got on in a comfortable silence. The elevator stopped at the second floor to let on an elderly couple. They smiled at Mac and Stella politely.

"Where are you two from?" the man asked Mac.

"Um, New York," Mac said, looking down at Stella to make sure she was okay with the generalization. She smiled and nodded.

"Oh, how sweet," the woman said. "We're from Chicago."

"Oh, really?" Stella's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair as she looked up at Mac. "He's originally from there."

"Oh, really?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Mac said. "I, uh grew up on the North Side."

"Oh, really? Herb and I live in Blue Island."

"South side?" Mac said. "Yeah, I knew someone from there."

"I don't doubt you do," Herb said affectionately. "What about you, ma'am? You grow up in Chicago, too?"

"Oh, me?" Stella said. "Oh, no, I've lived in New York all my life."

"You two met in the Big Apple, then?" Herb's wife asked.

"Yeah," Mac said.

"Oh, how exciting!" Herb said. "And when did you two get married?"

"Married?" Mac asked blankly. "We're not married."

"Oh, pardon me," Herb said. "I—you two looked so natural and comfortable together, naturally I assumed…" he trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"Herb, you crazy old man," his wife chided him. To Stella and Mac, she said "I'm sorry, he fancies himself a good people-reader and a bit of a romantic."

"I can't help it," Herb complained. "They reminded me of us at that age."

"Oh, leave them alone," Herb's wife hit him gently on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, he does this all the time, I really don't know why…" The elevator doors opened with a _ding_, and she tugged on his sleeve.

"Come on, you nut, this is our floor," she said.

"I'm coming," Herb said. "Well it was nice meeting you two, and I hope he pops the question soon, eh?" he winked at Stella, who was working hard to keep the smile off of her face.

"Oh, get out, get out…" Herb's wife shooed him off the elevator. "Enjoy your trip!" she called as the doors slid shut. Stella smiled.

"Well," she said lightly, with only the trace of a giggle. "That was… interesting."

"I'll say," Mac said, but was spared from continuing the conversation by the elevator door opening again.

"Come on, this is our floor—I mean, my floor," Mac said hastily. They stepped off the elevator and Mac led Stella to his room. He unlocked it and let them in.

Stella looked around the room. Like most hotel rooms, it featured a small dresser, a TV, a floor-length mirror, and a desk in the far corner. The blinds on the window were drawn, and Stella saw reflected in the mirror a bathroom and a small closet. At the center of the room was a bed. Stella shuddered at the thought of the sheer amounts of body fluids present on those sheets.

"Just don't think about it," Mac said. He had noticed her shudder. "My bag's over in the corner." He walked over to it and opened it to get a change of clothes and saw his bag of toiletries.

"Hey, Stell?" Mac called over his shoulder. "Mind if I take a shower before we get going?"

"Sure," she said from over by the desk. Mac grabbed his clothes and his toiletries and took a quick shower. He decided to listen to Stella and forgo shaving, at least today. Ten minutes later, he and Stella were walking out of the hotel and into the bright sunlight, carrying his luggage. He put it into the back of the Avalanche and then got into the car and faced a grinning Stella.

"You ready?" she asked. Mac nodded.

"All right," Stella began. "We're gonna start with the French Quarter. It's the closest, and it's my favorite part of the city." Her eyes lit up as she struggled to describe it to Mac. "It's so… surreal. It feels like a Disney movie, with all the colors, and the balconies, and the—oh, you'll just have to wait, it's fan_tas_tic!" she let out a little squeal, unable to help herself. As much as she loved New York, New Orleans was unique and amazing in ways that New York couldn't compare with if it tried. "We're going to Café Du Monde's first, and then we'll just work our way through it. Sound good?"

"Café Du Monde?" Mac asked. "But we just ate."

"Not to eat, just yet," Stella said with a little chuckle. "Are you kidding me? The place is packed with tourists in the morning. We'll just sit there for awhile, maybe look at… well, you'll see," she said with a smile. She turned a corner and parked in an alley. The alley was dingy and gray, but there were a few parking spots carved into the side.

"Wow," Mac said before he could help himself. "I can definitely see the appeal."

She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled in his direction. "Come on, it's this way," she said, getting out and gesturing out of the mouth of the alley. Mac followed her obediently, sniffing the air. He could barely smell the sea now, covered up as it was by motor oil, grease, coffee, a light flowery scent, engine exhaust, and something Mac couldn't identify—a pastry of some kind, something that made his stomach, already full from toast, eggs, and coffee, grumble quietly under its breath.

"What is that?" Mac asked, amazed. Stella turned back to look at him and smiled. "Café Du Monde's," she said simply. "Come on." Mac quickened his stride to catch up with her, and they exited the alley together and turned right. They walked down for awhile, not talking, just looking around.

"Still totally blown away," Mac commented dryly after a few minutes of the street, which looked seedy at worst, the admittedly brighter colors of what looked like a residential area muted by the slight overcast of the sun. Stella scoffed and punched him lightly on the arm.

"We're almost there," she assured him. In the next moment, three things happened: they turned the corner, the sun came out, and Mac felt his eyes widen. They stopped, and Mac's hand, which had been holding Stella's, let go.

"Wow," he said, working hard to keep his jaw from dropping. He ran his hand over his mouth, looking around. "Wow."

Somehow, in the second it had taken to turn the corner, they had been transported from a city street to something closely resembling a movie set. Bright whites and vivid colors were splashed on the houses, shining brightly in the sudden sunshine. A white tent stood to the side, gleaming as it protected the people underneath it. On his left, a row of connected squat little buildings stood side by side, united by Greco-roman columns, but on his left…

"It's like they chopped three stories off of a Manhattan block, then handed it to a bunch of finger-painting kids and said 'get cracking,'" Mac said, awestruck.

Stella laughed at that, slipping her arm around his waist. "Yeah," she said, admiring the row of brightly colored buildings. "You're right."

"And what is that smell?" Mac asked, sniffing the air again. "God, it's like… what is that? Bread?"

"Café Du Monde's," Stella said again in explanation. "They have this little pastry, _beignet_, and it's just… mm! It's delicious. But we'll wait a bit, I can practically already see the lines from here," she said with a laugh. "Let's walk the other way a bit."

"Okay," Mac said. He turned in the direction she was going and noticed a glittering off to his right. With a jolt, Mac realized that that was the Gulf of Mexico. He turned back to look once more at the beautiful buildings that almost glowed in the sunlight, with awnings and plants hanging off of them, half expecting to see a camera crew peeking out of one of the windows. What a mixture this city was.

"Mac!" Stella called. She was a good thirty feet ahead of him, apparently having not realized he'd stopped.

"I'm coming," he said. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure, and walked over to Stella. She smiled.

"You're having fun already?" she asked. Mac nodded, and Stella laughed.

"Your eyes are shining, Mac. You look like a kid who just got told he was going to Disneyworld."

"Who needs Disneyworld," Mac said as dryly as he could manage, "When you have a real city that looks like it?"

She shook her head at him. "I expected you to be impressed, and I guess I was right. What's up?" she slipped her arm around his waist again, and Mac's arm went automatically around hers.

"I don't know," Mac said quietly. He looked around, taking in his new surroundings. "Every day, back in New York, I take in death and destruction. It never bothered me much before, but lately, it's… well, it's getting to me." His mind flashed briefly to Olivia, and to his first partner. He watched his first partner bleed out against the car again in his mind's eye, his mood darkening. So much death, so much hate. He shook his head and put on a smile. He wasn't going to think about things like that now. Not while he was with Stella. He only had a limited time with her, and he was determined to let her show him the time of his life in New Orleans.

"Come on," he said enthusiastically. "Let's go check out DuPonte's."

"Du Monde's," Stella corrected with a smile. But she didn't miss how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. She reached out and rubbed his arm reassuringly. He looked down at her with another little flash of despair she had seen last night, but it was gone in a moment. She wrapped his arm around her a little closer and they set off down the street.

"Is that music I'm hearing?" Mac asked after a moment. Stella nodded.

"Street musicians, Mac," she said with a smile. "They have those in New York."

"Not like this," Mac returned. The music slowly grew louder as they walked down the street. Mac could hear saxophones and clarinets and trumpets playing a lively, jazzy tune. As they drew nearer, Mac could hear singers and occasionally see flashes of color.

"I'll give you that," Stella said with a smile. "New Orleans definitely does it their own way. Come on, do you want to go to Du Monde's or not?" she indicated the shop on their left with a wide, wooden sign that spelled out _The Original Café Du Monde's_.

"Nah, let's walk for awhile," Mac said, turning his head towards the sound of the music.

"All right," Stella said easily.

They walked past Du Monde's, with its dark green awnings and tinny jazz music blaring obnoxiously through poorly hidden speakers and headed in the direction of the real music. They passed a few more buildings and then there was a street full of musicians and artists. The musicians stayed to one side of the street, stretching out on the sidewalk. They seemed to work in groups; an alto sax, a trumpet, a clarinet, and a tenor huddled cheerily around the same bass case while the bassist who owned it took a deep and soulful solo. Mac smiled as the familiar pattern overtook him, remembering, briefly, his nights in the jazz club. Music was his one release, his one deviation from his standard norm. He would go to the club, no matter what had happened that week, and work it out among his fellow musicians, jamming and letting the stresses of the week wash away in the jazz. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound, unconsciously holding her tighter. The impromptu band finished the number, and people around them clapped. Mac and Stella joined in, and the musicians smiled as cash rained into the case. The next piece they played was slower, with a blues feel, and Mac pulled Stella closer to him, spinning her gently on her heel.

"Come on," he whispered shyly. "Let's dance."

"Mac, I don't do—I never studied jazz." It was a weak excuse, and sounded so even to her. Mac smiled.

"It's okay," he insisted, moving her hand to his waist and placing his own on her back. "Just follow my lead."

Slowly, they began to move in a circle, Mac elegantly stepping in time to the music while Stella followed, eventually falling into a simple box step. They were aware of passersby making little comments, but they only focused on each other. She began to smile, and Mac did, too, as he spun her out. She spun gracefully back into him, and he caught her with ease, capturing his hand in hers to spin her out again. When she reached the end of the spin, she turned to face him again, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him properly. Mac's hands settled back over her shoulder and waist, and they continued their box step, swaying in time to the music. When the song ended, Mac pulled away and kissed her hand. A smattering of applause surprised them, and they looked away from each other to see that a larger crowd had gathered. Both he and Stella smiled rather embarrassedly, holding hands.

"Take a bow," the trumpet player advised behind them. "They'll love it."

Mac and Stella looked at each other and shrugged. Then Mac bowed while Stella managed a dainty curtsy, pulling the edges of her dress to the side. The applause increased, and a voice shouted from Mac's left: "Kiss her!"

Mac smiled and brought Stella to him for a sweet and gentle kiss. Someone cheered and several people "aww"-ed, and he felt rather than saw Stella go red. They broke apart as people began raining tips on the band behind them.

Mac fished a twenty out of his wallet and added it to the case.

"Thank you," he told the bass player. The man nodded.

"Thank you," he said. "these tourists, they just love it when people dance. Increases the tips." He winked. "Don't let that pretty woman get away from you, now."

"I won't," Mac said, looking over at where she stood, still a bit pink, waiting for him. "I won't."

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><p>Well, guys, what do you think? It's not ALL New Orleans, but I finally managed it. leave a review and tell me what you think!<p> 


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